


Our Kingdom is gone

by Aerlind



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlind/pseuds/Aerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He can smell the wonderful scent of her. He could never pinpoint what it was –something flowery, fresh, wonderful. He can feel her hand still on his face, her gentle, sweet touch. Yet all he can taste is ashes."</p><p>Inspired by Pentatonix's song "Run to you". Elrond thinks of Celebrían, and misses her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Kingdom is gone

The white light illuminates the grass, the space. The white dress seems to have a glow of its own. The silvery curls shine brightly in the light.

And he stands there. His hands half extended towards  _her_. His fat, too comfortable robes clinging to him, bringing him down.

She stares him. He stares her. She looks grim. Serious. He takes a step towards her. Another. And she stays there, she gazes to him so seriously, so sternly. And he takes steps like a child learning to walk, hands extended towards her, who is illuminated. And the light is much stronger, but he can’t give up, he has to see her, touch her, tell her that—

Her hand, so delicate, so small, touches his face.

And Elrond closes his eyes, for the light is blinding, he is sweating, there is water, there is sweat, there is something, there is everything and there is nothing, and he draws breath, he draws the warm air of summer night to his lungs, and he opens his eyes to look at  _her_  again—

But she is gone.

And he is standing outside. He has once more walked in his sleep, Elrond can realize that much. But the loss hits him once again, his longing, his love, and he slumps down to his knees. And he cries like a child in front of the golden flowers of elanor. They had been planted there to remind Celebrían of her home, Lothlórien. Elrond hugs himself, sobbing silently, not even daring to touch the flowers. He wants them to bring Celebrían back.

_I miss you._

The dream-Celebrían told so. Yet it has been so many years already. So many years ending him wishing he could have taken a ship and gone to her. So many years of slaying orcs or other fell creatures. It does not matter how many he slaughters, he still lost. He already lost. He rules alone now. He lost his Lady.

Elrond can remember her.

He can see her short, curled hair tickling her neck, as she was watering the garden. As she admired the plants she had made grow there. He can hear her laughter in his ears, as they raced around the small paths and trails on foot or on horse. He can smell the wonderful scent of her. He could never pinpoint what it was –something flowery, fresh, wonderful. He can feel her hand still on his face, her gentle, sweet touch.

Yet all he can taste is ashes. Disappointment. Sorrow. Anger. Sorrow. Yes. He remembers the smell of blood and dirt, he remembers he wore his armour for several days without bathing. He remembers his hands shook. He remembers he was kneeling. He remembers screaming, shouting, crying. He remembers her face. White as ashes. Her eyes so lifeless. The joyful light gone in an instant. She would barely move. And when he finally gave in, when he finally thought everything could be alright, and when he finally attempted to bestow a kiss to her fair lips, there was no response. Her eyes looked still to the ceiling, and the taste of the kiss was bitter. And he wept. And he still weeps.

It was the signal that he could not heal her.

It was her wish to go.

Not even seeing her children made her better.

_I have to go._

Elrond remembers promising to follow when the time would come. Until then, they would be separated by the sea. Yes, he would follow her eventually. He could finally let go of the sword that has burdened his hand, has guided it to more violent acts than gentleness. He could finally meet those he lost. Well, not all of them. No, not nearly all. But he could still see them. His pain would finally end.

The ash would end.

The pain would end.

He would not need to be alone.

Elrond is silent, as he gets up. He walks with a bit of staggering back inside, and tries to dry the tears he once more has wept. His chambers are dark. Everything there is dark. He does not want to change that. Not even if it makes him cry even more.

Where is his light,

his illuminator,

his White Lady?

 

_She is not coming back._


End file.
